


Catharsis

by true_alpha



Series: Hot For Teacher [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Human, BDSM, Crying, Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Paddling, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:39:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2395397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/true_alpha/pseuds/true_alpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. All he wants is a stiff drink and maybe some <i>South Park</i> reruns. Derek, however, has other ideas in mind to help him unwind.</p><p>You don't need to read the first parts to follow this one!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It starts first thing in the morning. Stiles oversleeps and panics, rushing through his usual morning routine and initially running out the door with only one shoe on and his shirt on backwards. Derek has to call him back into the apartment to get him straightened out before sending him off again.

In the end, he's only ten minutes late for work, but it still bothers the hell out of him. He's only just been hired at the station, and even though his dad is technically his boss, he doesn't get off easy. If anything, Stiles is under more scrutiny than any of the other deputies. 

Just before lunch, stupid fucking Deputy Morgan spills coffee across Stiles' desk, including the paperwork that Stiles had only just finished. Stiles only just stops himself from snapping at the idiot. Then, shortly after the coffee incident, Stiles realizes he'd forgotten his lunch in his rush to get out the door this morning. He eats the granola bars he stores in his desk and scowls at Morgan the entire time. 

On a call not long after lunch, Stiles is informed by the irate complainant that he doesn't know how to do his job, and demands that the sheriff himself come out to sort her issue out. 

“Trust me, lady, the sheriff is my _father_. I think I know a thing or two about my job,” he snaps back at her. 

She yells at him about his attitude and only talks to Stiles' partner for the rest of the time they're out on her call. All the better, though, because Stiles is _this_ close to smacking the woman and getting arrested by his own damn partner. 

“You alright?” Parrish asks him once they're back in the cruiser. “You've been pretty wound up all day.” 

“Just one of those days where not a damn thing goes right,” Stiles grumbles back. “God, for once, I can't wait for my shift to end.” 

And yes, as much as Stiles loves his job, he's currently in the midst of the day from hell. He's glad for once to be back at the station, because if he has to deal with one more pissy citizen, he might just explode. 

When five o'clock finally, blessedly rolls around, Stiles is the first one out the door. All he wants is to go home and sleep until he has to get up for work again tomorrow morning. 

When he stomps through the apartment door, Derek is sitting at the kitchen table, glasses sliding down his nose as he grades papers. He looks up and raises an eyebrow at Stiles, who ignores him and marches right to the bedroom. 

Derek doesn't follow him, and Stiles doesn't know if he's glad or disappointed. He strips off his uniform and drops it right on the bathroom floor, knowing Derek will bitch about it later and not caring in the slightest. He turns on the shower until the water is scalding and climbs in. 

The hot water relaxes his tense muscles, but Stiles' mind is still buzzing. It usually is, and normally it doesn't bother him, but today the noise in his head has built and built and built until it's nearly unbearable. Stiles closes his eyes and presses his fists against them, taking deep breaths. It doesn't do much of anything but make his eyes sore. 

When he steps out of the shower ten minutes later, he's clean and warm, but doesn't feel much better than before. He towels himself off roughly, pulls on a pair of sweatpants, and then stops to eye the bed. God, sleep sounds so good right now. He can't though; if he falls asleep now, so early, he'll wake up later and then lay awake all night. That definitely wouldn't improve his mood any. 

So instead, he traipses back out into the kitchen. Derek looks up at him again, eyebrow raised once more. 

“Bad day?” he says. 

Stiles scowls back. “What makes you say that?” he retorts, voice drenched in sarcasm. 

Derek frowns at him and sets his red grading pen down. 

“You don't need to give me an attitude,” he replies levelly, as if Stiles being sarcastic is out of character. Stiles snorts at the mere thought. 

“Everyone had an attitude with me today, I think I deserve to give some back.” 

“Well, I'm not everyone.” Derek stands and crosses to Stiles. The younger man folds his arms defensively across his chest. “You don't have a reason to be bitchy with me. Do you?” 

Stiles eyes Derek up and down for a moment, trying to decide if he really wants to pick a fight. Finally, he scowls, drops his arms, and turns to the refrigerator. 

Derek, however, won't have it. He puts his hand on the back of Stiles' neck, squeezing just so. At once, Stiles goes still. He turns back to face Derek, eyes dark and cheeks somewhat red. 

“I asked you a question, Stiles. It's rude not to answer,” Derek says. “Or didn't you hear me?” 

Stiles hears the real question in his words: “Are you up for this?” Derek never pushes Stiles into anything, especially not a scene. He always backs down if Stiles declines, and now, Stiles is a little tempted to. He had a long day, after all. He has to work again tomorrow. But.... 

But Derek is squeezing his neck with just the right amount of pressure. Nothing that really hurts, just a little pinch, just enough to let Stiles feel it. He still has his glasses on, too, and fuck if that never fails to get Stiles hot. His expression is still rather neutral, waiting for Stiles answer, but Stiles can see the heat brewing in Derek's eyes. 

Stiles gets this way sometimes. Between work, bills, rent, all the stress in his life, he sometimes just needs to be taken apart completely. And Derek happens to do it perfectly. 

“You mean besides the third degree you're giving me for no good reason? Yeah, no reason to be 'bitchy' with you at all,” Stiles snaps. He scowls and twists away from Derek's hold. 

Before he can get very far at all, Derek's hand closes around his wrist. 

“That's enough,” Derek says, voice firm. “You're being a little bitch tonight, Stiles. There's no reason for you to be so pissy with me. You want to act like a bitch? Fine. I'll treat you like one. I'll bend you over and fuck that attitude right out of you.” 

Heat pools low in Stiles' belly. It's never this easy, though, never when he's as wound up as he is now. So he rolls his eyes and yanks his hand away from Derek's, trying once more to walk away. Derek won't have it. He snatches Stiles wrist and marches him over to the kitchen table. 

“What are you going to do, put me in detention? Spank me with a ruler?” Stiles sneers. “I'm not one of your students, _Mr. Hale_.” 

Derek ignores him. He sits back down at the table in front of his paperwork and pats his lap, looking up at Stiles expectantly. Stiles raises an eyebrow and folds his arms back over his chest in reply. Derek frowns. 

“I'll give you one more chance to get over my lap,” he warns. “After that, I won't be so nice to you.” 

Stiles considers him for a moment. Then, slow and deliberate, he raises one hand to flip Derek off. 

What looks like genuine annoyance flashes across Derek's face. He takes Stiles by the wrist again and hauls him in, right to the edge of the chair. Once he's close enough, Derek pulls Stiles down by the arm and manhandles him until the younger man is strewn over his lap. 

Derek doesn't mess around. He pulls down Stiles' sweats until the band is just below his ass. Stiles starts to squirm, because Derek usually warms him up on top of the fabric first. He wanders for a brief second if he's pushed a little to far all ready. And then the spanking starts. 

Derek hits him hard; not as hard as Stiles knows he can, but definitely with more strength than how he usually warms Stiles up. Stiles can't help but yelp, jerking forward at the impact. Derek puts a hand on the small of his back to steady him. 

“Stay still,” Derek says, “and I better hear you count.” 

Stiles grits his teeth. “One,” he mutters begrudgingly. 

Derek smacks him again, still just as hard, and Stiles lets loose another yelp. Before he can count off again, Derek is saying, “I expect you to speak up, Stiles. I can't hear you all the way from down there.” 

“Two,” Stiles says, louder, but still with just as much bite in his voice. 

“Better,” Derek says. “Now with less of an attitude.” He lets another hit fly. 

“Three,” Stiles says, only just managing to keep his tone level this time. 

“There you go,” Derek praises, running his hand over Stiles' already warm ass. “Just like that. I think you deserve twenty for your behavior tonight. We're starting over on one now.” 

“That's not fair!” Stiles says at once, twisting frantically to look up at Derek before the next hit can come. “You already gave me three, start with four!” 

Derek stares down at him evenly, completely unimpressed. “Are you telling me what to do, Stiles?” he says. “Do you tell me what to do? Is that how this works?” 

Stiles' jaw clenches before he mutters, “No.” Derek swats his ass, and Stiles repeats louder, “No, I don't tell you what to do.” 

“Keep that in mind,” Derek says. “We're starting over now. Twenty-five.” 

“Twenty-five!” Stiles repeats, indignant, twisting further. “You said twenty!” 

“I'll make it thirty-five if you don't drop the attitude and stop moving,” Derek threatens. “I'd hate to give you that many before the paddling you've got coming.” 

Stiles positively gapes up at his Dom. Twenty-five spanks _plus_ a paddling? That's – that's completely unfair! Spankings are fine – he can get into those. But the paddle? Stiles _hates_ it. It's one of his least favorite punishments, right behind being ignored. That's truly the worst. 

“I'm sorry,” Stiles grouses reluctantly. “I'll drop the attitude.” 

Derek smiles. “That's right, you will.” He rubs his hand slowly over Stiles' ass again. “Twenty-five, and then your paddling. Don't forget to count.” 

Stiles scowls as he turns back around. He really should've known better than thinking he could get out of a punishment that easily. 

Derek resumes the spanking, then, and Stiles dutifully restarts his counting at one. Derek is definitely being harder than usual, and as the hits continue, they only get harder and harder. Stiles manages not to whimper, not to make a sound other than his counting, but by fifteen, his voice finally wavers and breaks. 

Derek pauses for a moment, just rubbing his hand over Stiles' warm skin. Stiles can only imagine how red it must be already. He can't help but wonder if he'll have bruises by the morning. His dick twitches at the thought, and Stiles realizes that he's hard, just from being spanked across Derek's lap. 

“Color?” his Dom asks, pulling Stiles from his reverie. 

“Green,” he answers. He'd have to be spanked a lot harder and longer than this to consider calling out a yellow. 

“Ten more.” 

Derek doesn't tell him he's doing good, just brings his hand up and lets down the sixteenth smack. Stiles takes it readily, but can't help the pit forming in his stomach. It's dumb, really. He _knows_ he hasn't been good tonight, not at all. Still, not hearing praise from Derek when he's usually so liberal with it is more unsettling than Stiles would like to admit. 

The smacks get progressively harder and harder until Stiles doesn't even try to stop his voice from cracking. He's more focused on willing the tears stinging his eyes not to fall. He's taken worse than this; he can't, won't cry. 

After the twenty-fifth smack, Derek's hand stays resting on Stiles' ass. He rubs over the tender skin, pinching it occasionally, making Stiles jump and curse. Derek just chuckles in response and gives Stiles one final, light swat. 

“On your knees,” he says next. 

Stiles isn't very surprised. Derek's made him kneel at his feet while he graded papers before. Stiles doesn't mind it, actually finds it quite soothing most of the time. Now, though, he's just annoyed. 

“I thought you were going to paddle me,” he says as he clambers off of Derek's lap. He tries to pull his sweats back up, but Derek swats his hands away. 

“Eager for it?” he says, sounding amused (the bastard). “I am, but I need to finish these papers first.” 

“And I'm just supposed to sit here on the dirty kitchen floor?” Stiles snaps back. He wouldn't admit it, not like this, but he's actually finding it incredibly erotic. There he is, kneeling at Derek's feet, his ass and his dick hanging out obscenely. Derek, seated above him, is still in his work clothes, tie long gone, shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. The only thing unprofessional about the look is the bulge in his dark slacks. 

Derek smiles, and Stiles worries about what the look means. It certainly can't be anything good, not in a scene like this. 

“I have something to do for you, since you're so worried about being occupied,” he says easily. He spreads his legs and pats the inside of his thigh. “Between my legs.” 

Stiles shuffles around until he's under the table, his hair just scraping the bottom of it. Derek scoots his chair forward, and then puts a hand in Stiles' hair, pulling him towards Derek's crotch. 

“Take my cock out,” he orders. “Do it quick. Don't make me wait.” 

Stiles bites back a scowl as he does what he's told, making quick work of the button and fly of Derek's pants. There's a wet spot forming on the front of Derek's Under Armour already. Stiles' mouth waters at the sight alone. Before he can help it, he's leaning forward, his mouth encasing the outline of Derek's cock through the fabric. He only gets the feeling for a moment before Derek is yanking him back roughly by the hair. 

“That's not what I told you to do,” Derek reprimands. “What did I tell you to do, Stiles?” 

This time, Stiles does scowl. Derek had been about to get his dick sucked; is he really complaining? Truthfully, though, Stiles know that's not what this is about. Derek gave him an order that he didn't obey. Disobeying won't fly, especially when he's already in trouble. 

“To get your dick out,” Stiles answers. “Not to make you wait.” 

“And you didn't do either of those things, did you?” 

Derek's grip on his hair is too tight for Stiles to shake his head, so he has no choice but to answer aloud. 

“No, I didn't.” 

Derek other hand brushes thoughtfully across Stiles' lips. Stiles still can't turn his head, but he nonetheless opens his mouth. When Derek's fingers brush over his lips again, Stiles captures the tips of them, sucking them into his mouth. Derek chuckles. 

“You're an insolent little thing tonight, aren't you?” he murmurs fondly. He pulls his fingers from Stiles' mouth and grips Stiles' chin instead. “I'm only going to tell you one more time, Stiles. After that, I'll stick you in the corner for the rest of the night leave you there to think about your behavior. I want you to take out my cock and suck it in your mouth.” 

Corner time, ugh. Stiles' hands reach up at once, tugging down the waistband of Derek's Under Armour. Derek's cock is only half hard and still fucking gorgeous, always appealing to Stiles. Hard or soft, Stiles can honestly never get enough of Derek's cock – or the rest of Derek, for that matter. 

With the threat of corner time still looming, Stiles, for the first time tonight, obeys. He takes Derek's cock in his hand and pauses, looking up at Derek for his next order. 

“Suck me, Stiles,” Derek murmurs. “Get me hard.” 

Stiles leans forward at once, taking all of Derek's cock into his mouth. Normally, he likes to tease a bit, but this obviously isn't the time for it. Derek's order was to suck him, not to tease, and Stiles doesn't want to push to far and get put in the corner while Derek finishes grading papers. 

Derek's hand is still in Stiles' hair. He guides Stiles, setting an even, unhurried pace. He pulls Stiles' mouth from root to tip with each long pull, careful not to let his dick fall from between Stiles' lips. 

Once Derek is fully hard, filling Stiles' mouth, Derek does something... different. When Stiles gets to the base of Derek's cock, Derek holds him there. Stiles has to fight back the panic twisting in his stomach, knowing that, even if this is punishment, Derek would never push too far, will always stop if Stiles needs him to. 

“Breathe through your nose,” Derek says. “You can take it, Stiles.” 

It's still not praise. It's not even encouragement, but a statement. Derek wants Stiles to take it, so he'll take it. Simple as that. 

“Just like that,” Derek continues. His voice is a bit lower than normal, but he sounds otherwise unaffected. “I'm going to finish grading these papers, and you're going to stay just like that, keeping my dick warm until I'm ready to use you again.” He pauses for a moment, stroking his hand through Stiles' hair. “Color, Stiles,” he prompts at last. 

When Stiles' mouth is otherwise occupied, they have alternative signals for their safewords. One finger means “green,” two means “yellow,” and three is “red.” Stiles considers Derek for a moment before holding up his middle finger. 

Derek doesn't frown, doesn't scowl. He just sighs, and somehow, it's worse than any expression Derek could make right now. Stiles immediately realizes he's pushed too far and tries to fix it by holding up his index finger instead. It's too late, though; Derek shakes his head. 

“I was trying to give you a chance to be good,” Derek says. He grabs Stiles' hair again and pulls his sub away from his dick. “All you had to do was keep my dick in your mouth, just sit there and let me use you. But you _still_ can't drop your attitude, can you?” 

“I'm sorry,” Stiles says, and means it, if only because he's dreading what will come now. 

“You're sorry I'm punishing you for it,” Derek says, because he can always read Stiles like a book. He pushes his chair away from the table, away from Stiles, and stands. “Follow me. Hands and knees.” 

Stiles drops to his hands and knees but hesitates. Derek looks down at him expectantly, and before Stiles can help it, he's rambling. 

“I'll be good. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Derek. Don't take me to the corner, _please_ , please, I'm sorry. I'll be good, I can be good. I'll drop my attitude, I promise. _Please_ don't take me to the corner.” 

Derek says nothing as Stiles begs, and eventually, Stiles realizes that he's just making it worse. He shuts his mouth and looks up at Derek with wide, pleading eyes. 

“You should've thought of that before,” Derek says. “Actions have consequences, Stiles, you know that. You also know I don't like to repeat myself. Now, follow me.” 

This time, Derek doesn't wait. He turns and marches into the living room without once looking behind him. Stiles knows better than not to follow. 

The tiles of the kitchen and then the hardwoods of the living room are hard on Stiles' knees. He wonders briefly if he'll get a pillow to kneel on, even though he knows he doesn't deserve it. It all depends on how long Derek is planning to leave him there. If it'll be a while, Stiles will likely get a pillow. He hopes desperately that Derek doesn't give him one; he doesn't know how much corner time he can handle tonight. 

As they get into the living room, though, Derek pauses at the couch and takes one of the throw pillows. Stiles feels his stomach drop. 

Derek sets the pillow in Stiles usual corner; no furniture around, no decorations, nothing to get in the away. Stiles obediently ambles up onto the pillow and rises to his knees. He folds his hands behind his back, hoping that some good behavior will minimize his corner time, even if it's just a few minutes. 

Derek's hands are all over Stiles, but only fleetingly. He spreads Stiles' knees a little wider, lowers Stiles' head so that his gaze is down, presses Stiles' shoulders back so that his back is straighter. When Stiles is finally settled how Derek wants him, his sweatpants still gathered below his ass and his dick still obscenely out, Derek takes a step back. 

“I have some papers to grade,” he says. “You're going to be good and stay here while I work. I don't want to hear or see you unless you need give me a safeword. Tell me you understand, Stiles.” 

“I understand,” Stiles mumbles. 

“I'll come get you when I'm ready.” 

He turns and heads back into the kitchen. Stiles can hear the chair scraping across the kitchen floor, and then – nothing. Corner time has started.


	2. Chapter 2

Every once in a while, Derek shuffles papers, or murmurs a comment to himself as he grades. Stiles might as well not even be in the apartment, he thinks bitterly. 

He hasn't been in the corner for long, maybe ten minutes. Nonetheless, because of how much Stiles loathes corner time, it's felt like an eternity. He's kept perfectly still, hoping that Derek will look over and notice how good he's being. Derek hasn't said a word of praise the entire night, and it's starting to bother Stiles more than he'd like to admit. Derek's usually very liberal with his praise. 

It's not like Stiles had been good tonight, though. He knows he deserves the punishment, but that doesn't make it suck any less. So he squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and tries to stay still. 

Time continues to tick by slowly. Stiles' back is starting to burn a little, starting near his tailbone and steadily creeping all the way up to his shoulders. He rolls his neck but keeps still, knowing that Derek will be disappointed if he slumps his posture. 

Stiles is startled suddenly by the sound of the chair scraping across the kitchen floor. Corner time must finally, gloriously, be over. He straightens up even more and keeps his eyes straight ahead despite how much he wants to look back at Derek. Derek, who will look so proud of him, who will finally smile, finally tell Stiles how good he took his punishment. Derek, who – who isn't coming to get him. 

Instead, Stiles hears the fridge open and close. A moment later, the chair scrapes across the floor again. A can pops open; Derek had only gotten up to get a drink. 

Stiles can't help but deflate. He'd thought it was over, but no such luck. Even though he knows he's still got some corner time left, he can't bring himself to sit so erect. His shoulders slump. He unfolds his hands and wipes his sweaty palms on his sweatpants before reluctantly folding them again. He's barely half hard anymore, so there's little temptation to touch himself. All he wants anymore is for his punishment to be done and over with. He doesn't even want to disobey or whine; he just wants Derek. 

Stiles wishes that Derek had at least told him how long he'd be stuck in the corner for. At least then he'd have some semblance of time. Without it, all he can do is wait until Derek is ready to use him. It's almost maddening. 

Before he can help it, his mind starts to race. What if he really, _really_ pissed Derek off? He hadn't meant to actually make his Dom mad. He just wanted to push a little, to get put in his place. Now, he's stuck in the corner for God knows how long, all by himself; no Derek, no attention, no love – nothing. 

Tears sting suddenly at the corners of his eyes. He doesn't want to cry. Usually, he only cries when he's pretty far under. There's a faint buzz at the edges of his mind, but Stiles knows he's nowhere near as deep as he can get. 

It only takes a few more short minutes before the tears begin to fall. He desperately doesn't want Derek to hear him. He could get the wrong idea and stop the scene, and that's the last thing Stiles wants. He _wants_ to be taken apart tonight. He wants to be punished because he knows he deserves it. He just wishes that Derek would get on with it already. 

Stiles hears the chair move again, and immediately straightens back up. There's no stopping the tears at this point, but at least he can get back into the position Derek left him in. After a pause, there's footsteps heading in Stiles' direction. It takes everything in him not to breakdown into relieved sobs. 

Derek crouches down next to Stiles, who doesn't look over, wouldn't dare without permission. At this point, he just wants to be a good boy. 

His Dom, however, isn't having any of it. He takes Stiles' chin firmly in his grip and turns Stiles to face him. Derek's expression is almost impassive, if not for the heavy emotion swirling behind his eyes. 

“That was forty minutes, Stiles,” he says quietly. “That's the longest you've ever done. Tell me your color now.” 

“Green,” Stiles answers promptly, and then, because he can't stop himself, he blurts out, “Are you mad at me?” 

Derek looks surprised for half a second before his face splits into a soft, reassuring smile. 

“I'm not mad at you, Stiles,” he says. “You know we don't scene if either one of us – or both of us – is angry, right? You know I don't punish you because I'm mad at you?” 

Stiles sniffles. “Right. I know.” 

“Good,” Derek murmurs. Stiles whimpers, and Derek repeats, slowly and deliberately, “Very good, Stiles. You stayed here for forty minutes and I didn't hear you complain once. I'm very proud of you.” 

Stiles shakes his head rapidly, blinking tears out of his eyes as fast as he can. Derek won't have any of it. He grips Stiles' chin again and repeats, “I'm very proud of you, Stiles. You're so good for me.” 

Stiles whines, swaying forward towards Derek. Derek smiles and indulgently leans in, wrapping his arms around Stiles and holding onto him tightly. Keeping his arms behind his back, as they're effectively pinned there now, Stiles presses his face into the crook of Derek's neck and tries to make himself stop crying; it doesn't work. 

“You still deserve your paddling,” Derek says after a moment, stroking his hand along Stiles' spine, “but if you don't think you can handle it tonight, then it can wait.” 

For a moment, Stiles doesn't say anything. He doesn't even move from his little safe haven in the crook of Derek's neck. Finally, though, he sniffles and pulls back just enough to speak. 

“I can take it now,” he says. 

Derek pulls back, ignoring Stiles' whine. He moves his hands up to Stiles' shoulders and repeats the younger man's name until Stiles raises his gaze to meet Derek's. 

“You're sure?” Derek says. “I don't want to push you too far, you're already a little....” 

Wordlessly, he raises his hand to brush away some of the wetness off of Stiles' cheek. Stiles, however, shakes his head, a flush rising gradually to his cheeks. 

“No, it's – I can take it now. I _want_ to take it now. I'm fine. Green – I promise.” 

“Alright,” Derek finally says. “Let's get to the bedroom. You can walk.” 

Derek stands and helps Stiles up, who's a little wobbly after being on his knees for so long. Derek steadies him before helping Stiles out of his sweatpants. He pointedly ignores Stiles' cock, mostly soft now, and gives him a chaste kiss on the cheek before turning towards the hall door. Once again, he doesn't look back, doesn't make sure Stiles is following him. It's not like he has to, though. 

Derek leads the way into the bedroom. His face isn't as soft as before, never is during a punishment. Derek has his own head space in scenes as well. Stiles has never asked what it's like for Derek, and Derek doesn't ask it of Stiles, either. It's likely that neither of them could properly put it into words, anyways. 

“On the bed, hands and knees,” Derek orders. 

Stiles clambers up as he's told, more gangly and graceless than usual. It's partly due to nerves, partly due to the head space he's already in. It doesn't matter much, though, his lack of coordination. Once Stiles is more or less settled, Derek maneuvers him into a better position. He pulls Stiles nearer to the corner of the bed and pushes his shoulders down until Stiles is balanced on his knees and elbows. 

“That's good, Stiles,” Derek says lowly, warmly. “Ten with the paddle, okay?” 

Some of the tension leaves Stiles' shoulders. He'd obviously been anticipating more. He hates the paddle, he really does, but ten isn't too bad. 

Derek runs his hand along Stiles' flank for a moment before turning away from the bed and heading to the closet. They keep their toys in a plain box on the top shelf, somewhere away from any of their friends accidentally stumbling upon it. Derek takes the box down, and then turns and sets it on top of the dresser. 

The paddle, from a lack of frequent use, is near the bottom of the box. He has to push past a few other things to get to it. It's nothing much; plain black leather with a smooth walnut handle. Derek had wanted a studded one, and Stiles had steadfastly refused. Derek still hopes that he'll eventually warm his sub up to the idea. 

Derek returns to the bed. Stiles hasn't moved an inch, desperate now to be good and for his punishment to be over. Derek knows it, too. Truthfully, as much as he loves to redden Stiles' ass (especially with the paddle), he's just as eager as Stiles is to get the punishment out of the way. 

“Ten strokes,” Derek says. “If you're good, maybe you'll get another chance to suck my cock when we're done.” 

The desperate whine Stiles lets out makes Derek smirk. Stiles always makes the most _wonderful_ sounds when he at last loses the ability to string words together. 

Derek carefully slides the paddle across Stiles' ass, letting him get used to the feel of the leather. Stiles is still a little tense, and Derek knows that he can't help it. Still, he can't go and paddle Stiles before he relaxes. 

So he pulls the paddle back and puts his hand on Stiles' ass instead, kneading the supple flesh. Stiles whines and presses back into the touch. 

“There you go,” Derek says warmly. “That's it. That's so good. Just relax for me, Stiles. Just relax, and it'll be over soon. That's it....” 

Finally, Stiles is calm enough for them to continue. Derek pulls his hand away again and widens his stance. He raises the paddle, and this time, Stiles doesn't tense up. His back even arches a bit, jutting his ass out more for Derek, for the punishment they both know he deserves. The paddle swings. 

Stiles jumps away from the hit, a strangled whimper caught in his throat. Derek pauses for a moment for Stiles to take a breath before he raises and swings the paddle again. The sub doesn't move away this time, but he does whine. 

“So good, Stiles,” Derek praises. “Keep this up and it'll be over soon, okay?” 

“Ye – yes, Derek,” Stiles mumbles back. 

“Good boy.” 

The third strike comes down just a bit harder than the first two. Stiles bites down on the pillow to stifle a shout. He knows it's not nearly the hardest Derek can hit, and he hopes dearly that they don't get to that point tonight. Ten strikes is just about his limit with the paddle, but not at full strength. There's no way he could handle that. 

The fourth and fifth blows are delivered efficiently, one right after the other. Then, Derek pauses. He places his hand back on the reddened flesh of Stiles' ass and gives it a slight squeeze. Stiles has to bite his lip to hold in a whimper. 

“We're halfway done,” Derek says. “Color?” 

It takes Stiles a moment, but he at last manages to turn his head away from the pillow and reply, “Green.” 

Derek doesn't reply. He gives Stiles' ass one last pinch before taking his hand back. The sixth hit seems to sting more than the first five – but that could just be because of the small respite he'd just gotten. The seventh hit is harder yet, and Stiles feels tears stinging his eyes. 

He's not surprised that he's crying. Hell, he'd cried just from being put in the corner; of course a paddling would bring tears. It's cathartic, though, a release. So he just clutches at the sheets and lets the tears fall. 

The eighth and ninth hits are rapid and sharp. Right before the tenth, Derek pauses again. He brushes his fingers across Stiles lower back, and in a warm, even voice, says, “I love you.” 

Stiles sobs just as the tenth hit lands. Distantly, he can hear the paddle drop to the floor. He's crying, though, and his mind is fuzzy and everything is muddled. Then, Derek's hand comes to rest on the top of his head. 

Stiles turns, blinking away the wetness at his eyes. Derek comes into focus above him, smiling softly. He runs his hand over Stiles' hair and his sweaty forehead, and Stiles leans into the touch. 

“That was so good, Stiles,” Derek says. “I'm so proud of you.” 

Stiles sniffles and turns completely into Derek's hand, hiding his face in the rough, warm palm. Derek chuckles. 

“So good,” he repeats. “I'm going to get some lotion for you, okay?” When Stiles whines, Derek continues, “Do you want me to stay with you?” 

Stiles turns away from Derek's palm. Everything is still a little blurry, but he can tell that he's just about at eye level with Derek's crotch. The bulge in it is prominent, and probably quite uncomfortable for Derek. Stiles raises a hand and paws clumsily around the general area of Derek's zipper. 

“Wanna,” he croaks, “wanna touch you, Derek, please, please. Can I? Wanna suck you.” 

“You don't have to,” Derek says quietly. He combs his fingers through Stiles' hair, and Stiles preens. “Are you sure you're up for it?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles fumbles with Derek's pants, trying to get them off. He feels drunk, and all his limbs are heavy. Have pants also been this hard? “Wanna suck your cock. 'm a good boy.” 

Derek shivers. He grabs Stiles hands, and Stiles whines, but Derek is only trying to help. As it turns out, Derek is apparently some kind of pants wizard. One minute, Stiles is clawing at the denim, and the next, Derek is pushing his jeans down his thighs and pulling out his cock. 

“You are,” Derek says suddenly. He's holding his cock near the head, smearing precome across the tip with his thumb. “You are a good boy, Stiles. I'm so proud of you.” 

Stiles whimpers. He's still crying; not as much as before, but if Derek keeps up that kind of talk, Stiles just might break down again. 

“Please,” Stiles begs, if only to stave off the tears. “Please, Derek, please–” 

“Shh.” Derek slides his free hand into Stiles' hair and tugs. It's just the right side of painful. Stiles' mouth drops open, a groan slipping out. Derek smiles. “I know what you want.” 

Derek cradles the back of Stiles' head and pulls him forward. Stiles sways toward Derek, his mouth still hanging open. Derek slides his cock right in. 

Stiles' mouth is hot and wet and _perfect_. He lets Derek hold his head in place and guide him, content to just be used. His own cock is hard and dripping, curved against his belly, but he doesn't seem to care. All that matters in the moment is Derek, Derek's cock, Derek's need, Derek, Derek, , _Derek_. 

His job, the bills, the rent, the stress – it all just melts away. Everything fades into a quiet hum at the back of his mind. It's easy to ignore like that, even sort of soothing. All he has to do now is make Derek feel good. 

The head of Derek's cock bumps against the back of his throat. Stiles does his best not to gag, not that Derek seems to mind. He groans and bucks his hips, sliding his cock completely down Stiles' mouth. His throat flutters around the stiff flesh, fighting the urge to gag. Stiles is just starting to think he can't take it when Derek's hand starts to stroke through his hair. 

“That's it, Stiles. That's good, that's so good. You're a good boy, aren't you? You're _my_ good boy.” 

Stiles whines around the dick in his mouth. Derek moans, his hips jerking again just slightly. This time, he takes in in stride. He breaths through his nose and blinks up at Derek. Tears slide down his face, but he hardly notices. It's all secondary to taking care of Derek. 

Slowly, Derek pulls his hips back. Another whine vibrates through Stiles' throat, although he doesn't have much to whine about for long. Derek rocks his hips, sliding his cock slowly in and out of Stiles' mouth. And Stiles just lays there and takes it. 

Derek doesn't speed up, although he does pause briefly to strip off his shirt. His skin is beaded lightly with sweat, and a flush is spread along his collarbone. Then, he's back to fucking into Stiles' mouth, and then– 

“You're a good little cocksucker, aren't you, Stiles?” he murmurs. Stiles's eyes go wide, and Derek smirks back down at him. “You are. You're so good, Stiles. Such a good boy for me, aren't you? I'm so proud of you.” 

Stiles tries to talk back, but it all comes out garbled around Derek's cock. It doesn't matter what he says though, not really, not when Derek is saying the _best_ things. 

“You were so good for me, taking your punishment. I was so proud of you. So, so proud. You're a good sub. You're my good boy, Stiles. I love you so much.” 

He pulls out and Stiles sobs. Stiles is a mess; his face is red, splotchy, and wet with tears; his cock is dropping messily against his stomach; his eyes are glassy and unfocused. Derek bites back a groan. 

“You've been so good, Stiles,” Derek continues. “Do you want me to come in your mouth, or on your face? You can pick.” 

For a moment, Stiles just blinks up at him. Eventually, though, the question must process, because he whines and tilts his head back even further. 

“Mouth. In my mouth, please, Derek,” he begs. 

“Alright.” 

Derek doesn't make him wait for it. He slides his cock back into Stiles' mouth, only this time, it's different. It's faster, sloppier, dirtier. Stiles is loving it, too. He makes all kinds of noises, all the while keeping his eyes locked with Derek's. And yes, it's dirty, but it's also, somehow... incredibly intimate. There's something about trusting Derek with this that warms Stiles up in a way he'll never be able to explain. 

Stiles barely registers it when Derek come down his throat. He swallows reflexively and lets Derek hold him still through it. Derek's groans are muted to him, everything is fuzzy around the edges, and it's – it's perfect. 

Derek steps away, and Stiles falls face first into the bed. He whines, but really, it's not so bad. The sheets are warm and soft, and a hint of Derek's scent lingers on the pillow that his face is smooched into. He's still on his belly, and his cock is still hard against the sheets. When this clicks with Stiles, he moans and ruts his hips shakily into the mattress. 

It doesn't last for long, though. A warm hand settles on the back of his thigh, halting his movements. Stiles whines and listens as Derek chuckles. 

“None of that,” he says, but his tone is warm and almost amused. “You aren't coming tonight, Stiles.” 

Stiles whimpers because it's not fair and he was good and he took his punishment – and then the sound increases to a wail. A dollop of cold something drops onto the hot flesh of his ass, and he tries to pull his hips away. Derek laughs this time. 

“I told you what I was doing,” he defends. “You weren't listening to me.” 

He sounds entirely too smug about it, the bastard. Then, though, Derek's hands are on his ass. He kneads the lotion into Stiles' sore skin. It's a little too much, at first, too much attention too soon after the paddling, but then, it's just... nice. Derek's hands are big and solid and warm, and he presses into all the right spots. It's not long before Stiles is sighing and relaxing completely against the bed. 

Derek works his ass, his thighs, and even his lower back. Stiles isn't sure how long Derek takes with it – not that he's complaining, or anything – but it does seem to stretch on and on. Stiles is very nearly asleep by the time Derek's finished. 

He levers off the bed, and Stiles whines. He tries to roll over, to track Derek's movements, but the best he can do is to turn his head and blink his heavy eyes open. 

Derek is beside the bed, stripping off his jeans. Stiles makes an appreciative sound low in his throat, and Derek chuckles. 

“I must've done well to get you beyond words,” he says affectionately, warmly. His beard twitches as he smiles, and Stiles smiles back. He tries to, at least. It's hard to focus at the moment. 

Derek clambers back onto the bed. He settles down comfortably on his back before he turns and hauls Stiles up, too. He appreciates it; apparently, Derek can tell that Stiles isn't going anywhere on his own power for a while. He just manages to throw one of his knobbly legs over Derek's before he calls it quits. 

Derek's chest rumbles with more laughter. Stiles is just working up the energy to complain about it when Derek drops a kiss to Stiles' forehead, tender and soft (even with the beard). 

“I love you,” he says. 

Stiles throat is tight for a moment before he manages to say, “Even though 'm bitchy?” 

Derek can't hold in his laughter this time. “Especially because you're bitchy.” 

“Bastard,” Stiles sighs back. He presses his face into the crook of Derek's neck and sighs again when Derek strokes a hand through his hair. 

“Don't make me get the paddle back out,” Derek jokes. 

“Wasn't so bad.” 

“Oh yeah?” Derek raises an eyebrow even though Stiles can't see it. “Want to expand on that for me, Stiles?” 

But Stiles says nothing. His breath comes in warm, even puffs against Derek's neck. He's fallen asleep, obviously wiped out. Derek smiles to himself and drops one more kiss to the top of Stiles' head. Stiles _can_ be bitchy. Luckily, though, Derek knows just how to deal with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ACTUALLY POSTED SOMETHING WHEN I SAID IT WOULD!
> 
> Wow. Sorry. I'm just not usually so on top of things like this. Anyways, this story is complete, and for now, so is "Hot For Teacher"! I've enjoyed writing it and getting the great feedback that I have. Without you guys, I'd be nothing :') Thank you all so so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! You cannot imagine how much that means to me. 
> 
> Don't forget to stop in and visit me on [tumblr](http://www.hauntinghales.tumblr.com/)! Also, if you enjoyed this fic, _please_ leave a comment or kudos! It takes a second but means a lot :)

**Author's Note:**

> Part two will be posted sometime this weekend! Stay tuned! If you're enjoying this fic so far, _please_ leave a comment or kudos! It takes a second, but means a lot! :)
> 
> And once part two is posted, this series is complete... for now at least :) I've really enjoyed writing it, and I've sincerely appreciated all of the great feedback and support you guys have given me! However, I'm really interested in delving into A/B/O dynamics, heat fics, that sort of thing. So if you're into that, keep an eye out! :)
> 
> Finally, as always, stop in and visit me on [tumblr](http://www.deputyparrish.tumblr.com/)!


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